


Recognition

by jamespadfoot



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, CS AU, Elves, F/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-01 14:11:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11488011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamespadfoot/pseuds/jamespadfoot
Summary: CS Soulmate AU, set in a world where elves and humans coexist. They say, soul meets soul when eyes meet eyes. They call it Recognition - an experience typical only to elves. So what happens, when Emma Swan, an average human living in Alamané, suddenly has her life turned on its head?





	1. Unwensket

The boy is a brunette, eyes the color of oak, and yet though they look nothing alike, he reminds Emma too much of herself. She can still taste the tang of blood as her teeth had crashed against the metal bars of the playground, the jeering of the children as they bullied the dirty little  _unwensket._

It’s why she’s here, why she’d taken this rather perilous career of Placing  _unwenskets_ , or unwanted human children.

 

“Emma?” little Henry asked, voice strong despite knowing that a visit from Emma Swan meant he was still alone, without a family.

“Hmm?” she responded, running her fingers across the boy’s messy hair, attempting to make it look more presentable.

“What’s Recognition? Or soul meets soul when eyes meet eyes?”

 

Emma paused, then continued her administrations more slowly. She wanted to ask where Henry had heard that, but considering the theme of Recognition was embedded into all parts of elvish and human society, it seemed like a moot question.

“Recognition is when two beings of the opposite sex have a case of sudden, involuntary connect and need to uh… reproduce, often becoming life-mates. This is described by the phrase, ‘soul meets soul when eyes meet eyes’”.

“So you can’t… you have no power to stop it?”

Emma tamped down her own uneasiness, thinking of the centuries old debate of free will versus the fate and stars of the universe.

 

“You could resist,” she told the boy who was looking at her with eyes that held a thousand questions, “but most people don’t. Your soulmate is someone who is aligned in every way to you, you don’t  _have_  to do anything with them, but you’d be all the more sadder for resisting what is essentially a part of you.”

“But what if you don’t like girls?”

“Like I said, then you don’t have to do anything. You can continue life with your same-sex partner, but as far as I know, having a soulmate of the opposite sex rarely happens to people who don’t like the opposite sex. Recognition is purely… um, it’s… for… making sure there’s children. It’s not something that happens to humans, Henry.”

“So I don’t have to worry that I’ll have to marry Ryan?”

“Who is Ryan?”

“He’s the boy I punched, the one who kept pulling my hair and tripping me.”

In other words, Emma thought,  _he’s the reason I was called in to see if you could be moved,_ feeling a sense of righteous rage that Henry was being penalized for defending himself.

 

“I’m glad you did,” she said to Henry. The boy gasped, turning his head to look at her, making his hair flop across his forehead dramatically.

“You are?” he asked with the innocence of a 11 year old.

“Yes. He’s a bully, and they don’t stop until you push back and say, no, no this is not okay.”

“But now they don’t want me here,” Henry said, eyes downcast.

“Do you know where I live, Henry?”

“Is it far from here?”

“Yes. I live in Alamané. Do you know where that is?”

Judging by Henry’s gasp, he’d at least heard of it.

“The elves live there,” he said.

“And humans too,” Emma said, keeping her laughter in check. “It’s a city where those who believe in Integration stay.”

 

Henry looked like he couldn’t believe what Emma was saying, the unasked question hanging between them, as Emma took a deep breath and said, “Would you like to stay with me for a while in Alamané?”

“Boy, do I ever!”

  
* * *

In what she supposes is an inevitable progression, Emma Swan finds herself with a son, officially, two years later. Henry’s taken to Alamané like an elf to fine crochet, that is to say, impeccably.

They have a routine and everything, and Emma would have never guessed that bringing a teenage boy into her life would lead to such structure and contentment.

“Mom!” Henry yelled, bursting through the door like a whip was at his heels.

“Indoor voice!” she yelled back, putting the case file down and looking up as he skidded into the living room.

“You’re yelling too!” he said, but barreled on, “you’re not going to believe this, Mom, you are NOT going to believe this, the Noble Elves are going to be visiting next month!”

“Oh, really? That’s awesome, kid,” she said, taking in his bright cheeks and obvious delight.

 

Henry had been obsessed about the elves as a young child, reading about them as a form as escapism. Elves had incredibly low fertility rates, as well as high maternal and infant mortality rates. A successful pregnancy and birth were often a great cause of celebration, and as such, children were revered. She could understand why an  _unwensket_  would yearn to be close to elves, why he would covet such a thing.

“They’re holding an open court in the Alamané Council Court, can we go, please?”

“It’s not like you haven’t seen an elf, Henry,” she reminded him with a smile, even though they both knew she was going to say yes to his request.

“I know, Gracie and her father are going,” he said, referring to his only elvish friend, one he’d met at the library, of all places. It still surprised her, sometimes, how close they were.

After all, as progressive and inclusive as Alamané was about Integration, the fact remained that humans outnumbered elves 5,000 to 1, and 10,000 to 1 when it came to elvish children. As such, they were often regarded as celebrities, and for all the Integration activities, the divide between the two species were numerous and cause for tensions.

 

“Do you suppose we could go with them?”

“Gracie’s dad already said yes,” Henry said with no trace of shame. “Mr. Jefferson would love to see you,” he added on, with a smirk that was unbecoming.

“He’s not my type, Henry.”

“He said you’re fae-like, mum.”

She turned, mouth dropping open in shock. “He  _told_  you that?!”

“No, he asked me if you had a bit of elvish in you. I said your ear tips are too round.”

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head at him. “That’s stereotypical. And stop meddling,” she said sternly.

 

* * * 

The strong winds had her hair flying all over the place, making Emma huff repeatedly as she attempted to stuff it into the hood of her jacket.

Irritatingly beside her, Jefferson stood adorned in only his long tunic coat and pants, undisturbed by the weather. In addition to their long lives, elves had an internal heating system Emma would have given a few toes for. It was maddening, how lithe and agile this made them seem.

“It’s odd, how much praise they get just for being born into a Noble House,” Jefferson said, appearing to address all of them.

“Oh papa,” Gracie said, a smile turning the corner of her lips up, “don’t be so vexed, they’re more than vapid figureheads.”

 

“Oh, did you hear that the Elvenking will be wearing the Alexandrite Crown today?” Henry said, joining in the conversation without a care. Emma tugged a little on his scarf, securing it tighter so he’d stay warm.

“Is that true? I don’t think the crown has left the Enchanted Forest palace in centuries,” Jefferson said, giving Henry a stare that looked like approval. It made Emma feel proud, despite the fact that she didn’t need the elf’s approval - it was just… he was so odd, his mannerisms and eccentricity; she could never be sure if it was ‘just an Elf Thing’ or a personality thing. It felt like a victory.

“Why are they here?” Emma asked.

 

Jefferson lowered his volume, drawing the children and her closer. “It is said, that the younger prince eschewed his elvish pride and has been posing as human, living in Alamané for a close to a decade. He’s had tumultuous relations with his family but is going to rejoin Noble society.”

“Really? Why not announce that?”

“I would imagine, if rumors of the prince are true, his flighty nature might dissuade them from making any pre-mature announcements.”

“Oh,” she said, not sure what to make of that. It sounded like family drama best left in the family, so she said, “and how did Gracie get to the front of the line, in a place of honor?”

“Look around, Miss Swan, how many elvish children do you see? We have difficulty having them as it is, the years surrounding Gracie’s birth were even more difficult than usual. Any child is an honor to have attend. Children are great blessings, which is why I don’t understand how humans can just…leave them.”

 

“As a human, I have no idea either,” she said, putting a hand on Henry’s shoulder, which earned her an exasperated shake.

“You’re one too, aren’t you?” he asked, voice low and smooth as a hot knife to butter.

“One what? An  _unwensket_ , you mean?”

“I did not use such a vulgar word,” he said, tone low and reprimanding, “the word orphan would do just as well.”

“That’s somehow worse,” she groused, “we’re reclaiming the word.”

“Humans are so odd,” Jefferson sighed, attention captured as Gracie hissed,”Papa!” grabbing onto his sleeve.

 

“Oh my gosh, there, there,” Henry said, as the crowd surged forward as the most beautiful beings to have ever graced the planets emerged at the front of the hall.

There were four of them, two women and two men, the blue crown of the Elvenking practically glowing atop the dark hair of his head. The Elvenking and his consort were fair of skin, both with ebony hair, tall and imposing. The other man had long curly blonde hair, a color much like Emma’s own sunshine, while his partner’s hair was so blonde it was almost white, her face reminding Emma of blown glass - fragile but strong enough to cut you. It was such an odd way to think of anyone’s face, but such was the thoughts that first entered her mind.

“Mum, mum, are you looking?”

“Yes, Henry,” she said.

There was a clink, a loud ringing sound that vibrated across the whole hall, which silenced everyone abruptly.

 

“Thank you for being here today,” the Elvenking spoke; his voice was not at all what Emma expected. She had expected a clear, melodious voice from a man who looked like that, and instead was treated to a deep baritone.

“It is always a great joy to visit Alamané, where man and elf live side by side, in cultured society. We look forward to meeting with our people, and any human accompanied by elves. And of course, should you be approached by our Noble Sukrasa with an invite to our Royal Gala, we will see you then.  _Namárië, tenna enta lúmë_.”

“ _Namárië, tenna enta lúmë,”_ chorused the elves in the hall.

“What does that mean?” she heard Henry whisper to Gracie.

“Farewell, until the next time.”

“Namahrey, tenner enta loomeh,” Henry attempted, earning a giggle from Gracie, who proceeded to correct his pronunciation.

* * *

 

Henry was literally bouncing on the balls of his feet, dressed impeccably in a dark green elven tunic that Jefferson had procured.

“I cannot believe this, am I dead? Am I dead? Is this what death feels like? Because it is awesome!” Henry was babbling, swirling the sleeves of his tunic around as Emma dressed, cinching the corset of her gown, a designer from renowned elven dress-maker, Merline Camelot.

Jefferson had insisted on renting them both fine quality clothes because they’d been invited by the Elvenking himself, who had looked at the four of them and had probably thought what a perfect picture of Integration they made.

“A royal ball! Am I dead?!”

“Henry, calm down kid, before you work yourself up into an anxiety attack.”

“Anxiety? No way. No way, I might die of a heart attack when we get there, but that’s a different story.”

 

She laughed, shaking her head fondly. “Anyone tell you you’re super dramatic?”

“Do you think they’ll let me be the official Royal Storyteller?”

“Is that even a thing?”

“Of course it is!”

“Okay, I believe you,” she said, still laughing, as she did a little twirl of her own. The flowing white sleeves fanned around her, as did the bottom of the dress, the intricate lace patterns so beautiful Emma could have cried. Gracie had gotten her a flower crown to match her own little one, and for the first time in her life, Emma wondered if she could pass as an elf maiden herself. She certainly looked the part tonight.

“You’re sure you’re not elven, Emma?” Jefferson had asked, eyes widening when he’d taken her in, and she had simply smiled as they had entered the beautifully decorated Royal Ball Hall.

She met more elves in those few hours than she had ever met living ten years in Alamané. There would be one, however, who would forever change everything.


	2. Recognize

The food was light, all sorts of mousse and delicate earthen tastes typical of Elven food. The drinks were bubbly and sweet, the music even more so. It’s like a party in the clouds, Emma mused to herself.

Henry and Gracie were having a magnificent time, drawing fond looks from the elders. Emma purposely ignored the disapproving looks of one or two of them, who no doubt found the close quarters of an elven child and a human one uncouth.

Even Jefferson seemed to be enjoying himself in his odd way, leading her in a dance. He was surprisingly bad at it (or perhaps she was simply a terrible partner), so they’d had just that one. For most part, Emma was content to watch.

Halfway through the night, the same clink that had resounded in the town hall vibrated across the room, and all eyes instinctively turned to the dais of Noble Elves.

 

“It is with great pride, that the our family welcomes back our youngest son, Prince Killian Aearinön, to fair society.”

A dark haired man stepped forward, dressed in a brilliant dark blue tunic, and Emma was surprised to see that unlike the rest of the smooth skinned elves, this one had dark hair covering his jaw, much like that of a human man. She hadn’t even known elves could grow facial hair.

He was easily more handsome than his father or brother, something otherworldly about his tipped ears, sharp jaw and tall frame. He was nodding, meeting the gazes of people around the room in acknowledgement, a tight smile across his lips.

It was his eyes, however, that stopped time.

 

His clear, sharp, blue eyes had landed on hers as he was sweeping the room with his gaze, and she could suddenly hear her heartbeat. Like a warm, gentle hand was caressing her back, she felt the tingle from the bottom of her spine all the way to her neck.  _It is known_ , something whispered in her mind,  _it is him._

She felt like she was choking, as if she hadn’t taken a real breath of air since the beginning of time. There was sound all around her, and she wanted to scream at it to shut up, but her voice seemed lost.

“Mum, mum, hey mum, what’s wrong?” Henry’s voice broke through the noise, and she moved her eyes to his, registering the worried look and wince on his face. She was gripping his fingers hard, her body tense.

Attempting to regain her faculties, she focused on breathing, unclenching her fingers and relaxing her shoulders. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jefferson watching her intently.

With a deep breath and great difficulty, she dragged her gaze away from the stunned looking prince to the top of Henry’s head.

“You were looking at the prince,” Jefferson said, a question in his voice.

She ignored him.

“And he was looking at you.”

She ignored him harder.

“If I didn’t…”

“You don’t,” she snapped, “excuse me,” she said, attempting to calm herself, “I’m going to the washroom.”

 

 

She didn’t let anything or anyone stop her as she headed to the exit. She had barely made it outside the doors when a hand grabbed her arm, producing a shock so strong she retaliated by swinging out a punch.

His reflexes were like lightning, catching her other hand in a strong grip as he came face to face with her.

“Not a fan of pre-destined love, then?” he asked, sardonically.

“That’s  _not_  what that was,” she hissed, eyes darting around to make sure no one was nearby.

“You know  _exactly_  what that was.”

“It can’t be. It just can’t.”

“And why not?”

“Because I’m human!” she said, struggling not to scream.

 

He released her in shock, taking a step back. “What? What do you mean, human?”

“As in, do I look like an elf to you?”  
  
“Yes!”

“It’s the dress, okay. I’m human.”

“You have a magic dress that makes you elvish?” he asked, eyebrows dancing wildly like he thought  _she_  was crazy. She wasn’t the one acting like they had Recognized, but no, apparently  _he_  thought  _she_ was crazy. 

“That is  _not_  what I meant. Look, can we just… you’re an elvish prince, and I’m a human, and there is no way we just did what you think we did, okay?”

 

He sighed. “What’s your name, love?”

“Emma. Swan. Not your love. Not by a long shot.”

“Emma,” he said measuredly, as if trying to reason with a particularly grumpy dragon, “humans don’t Recognize. Elves do. Clearly, since we just experienced Recognition, you must be an elf.”

“Killian,” she said in the same condescending tone, using his first name, “like I just said, I.am.human. Maybe we both had food that made us a little gassy.”

His jaw dropped, looking at her affronted. “That’s crass, and I’ve lived amongst humans for ten years.” Then, “Can you prove it?”

“What?”

“Can you prove, beyond uncertain doubt, that you are in fact, human?”

“Don’t you think I’d know if I was an elf?”

“When was the last time you were sick?”

“I have a great immune system, but I get cold easily!”

“My father doesn’t handle the cold well either.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“What about your parents?”

 

She had known, on some level he’d ask, and despite that, she still felt as if the cold winds outside were blowing right down neck as she froze, standing stock still.

“Oh,” he said, blue eyes widening, and she could practically see the realization dawn.

“Not so eager to be Recognized to an  _unwensket_  now, are you?”

He flinched, glaring at her. “Do not use that word! Especially not about yourself.”

“I can use it,  _you_  can’t. I’m reclaiming the word.”

He shook his head, giving her the look Jefferson had given her when she’d told him the same thing.

“Look, I need to use the washroom, and you’re in my way, and we  _definitely_  did not do that. Bye!”

 

She marched off with as much dignity as she could, ignoring his protest for her to wait. She disappeared into the ladies, coming face to face with a beautiful elf whose skin was smooth and dark as molasses.

“ _Goheno nin_ ,” the woman said, dark brown eyes sparkling as she bowed. Thankfully, it was one of the few elvish phrases she did know.

“ _Goheno nin,_ ” she replied, dipping her head. It was only courteous after all, to ask for forgiveness considering she had almost run into the woman.

The woman smiled, and exited, leaving Emma to herself. The silence made the tugging under her skin impossible to ignore, a sudden awareness that she was missing something (someone).

She closed her eyes, breathing, counting ten inhalations and exhalations, rubbing her arms to soothe the itch under them. She kept breathing, letting the minutes pass by even as her belly churned with a fire that wasn’t hunger.

 

“It’s psychological, Swan, come on. You didn’t actually… It’s not psychically possible,” she said, staring sternly at herself in the mirror.

“It is if you’re elvish,” said a voice, making her jump.

“Fucking damnit, what the hell, how did you even get here?!”

He was standing just inside the door, and pushed it closed, turning the lock and stepping forward.

“Three hundred years I’ve lived, waiting, you are not ridding of me so easily.”

“I’m 28! 28 years old.”

“So? There’s an elvish saying that says,  _you are never alone, they simply haven’t been born._ ”

“This is insane. I can’t Recognize, I’m human!”

“Do you know how long you lived on the streets before you were found? Do you know who exactly your parents were? What they were? Why you were left?”

 

Before she could answer any of his questions or even demand to know how’d he figured that out in the ten minutes since she last saw him, he continued.

“Because I do. I have the answer to at least one of those questions.”

“How?”

He rolled his eyes, “Do you think the prick of blood you must pay before coming to the ball today was a barbaric ritual? It’s a test of blood worthiness. A security measure in a hall full of Nobles. Yours was an anomaly, to say the least. You, you are an impossibility, Emma Swan.”

“What are you—“

“A mix. An impossibility, half human, half elf.”

“What???”

“If The Suraksa are correct, and they are rarely wrong, you’re Nysnian, born during the Snowdrop War.”

“This is insane.”  
  
“I understand this must be a shock, but it’s even more insane for you to deny our Recognition!”

“You just told me I’m half elf and you expect me to want to sleep with you?!”

 

He grimaced, hopefully chagrined. “You’re right, I’m sorry. It hurts, though. You’re so near, my skin burns. Truthfully, I have little expertise in how to manage these impulses.”

It didn’t exactly hurt, but it was definitely uncomfortable. She could feel him, his scent, his  _being_ , but her mind was whirling. She didn’t even know who was anymore. She had no business even thinking of a soulmate when she didn’t even know who she was.

“May I hold you?” he asked after a moment of uncomfortable silence. His jaw was clenched and his hands were shaking. He looked how she felt.

She wondered if it was worse for him than it was for her. It seemed like it. She stepped forward, and that small movement gave him the permission to step into her, engulfing her in his arms.

 

It was overwhelming. 

 

It was like being thrown into a spinning cup at a theme park, that gradually settled to a panoramic ride on a ferris wheel, calm and breath-taking.

_Soul meets soul when eyes meet eyes._

It was the only way to describe it.

“Emma,” he breathed into her neck, hands tangled into her hair as her fingers grasped the little hair-flips at the base of his neck.

“Emma,” he breathed again, tugging her closer to him, bodies pressed tightly against each other.

He felt real. He felt good. He felt  _perfect._

“Emma,  _please_ ,” he pleaded, and she knew, knew what he was asking. Acceptance to what this was, to embrace the rapid change his gaze had brought to her life.

It was too much, so she pushed him, wrenching his face from her neck.

Instead of the distance, his gaze met hers, burning, pleading, wide and desperate.

 

Something snapped, like a guitar string strung too tense.

 

She surged, catching his bottom lip between hers, the entire world condensing into the feel of him against her. She could hear, distantly, the sounds of their labored breathing and smacking of lips, the gasps of air they sucked from each other; the push and pull. Tug, bite, suck, lick, press. Again and again, she couldn’t stop, wanted to pull away, but couldn’t.

Instead of abating, the spark grew to an inferno, the pulsing of her heartbeat traveling to the heat between her legs. The hunger to take him, to milk every drop of him into her body, to feel him pressed to her; it was maddening.

 

There was a pounding.

It wasn’t him on her.

 _Bang, bang_.

Not us, her mind said sullenly. The door. The door!

It was like being wrenched by the belly, the sudden awareness of where she was and what she was doing.

They were in the damn bathroom, of all places. Sure, it was a glitzy bathroom; she was seated on the marble countertop, legs wide where he was pressed hard against her, mouth kiss swollen and hair mussed. Making out with the damn  _prince_  of the Elven kingdom.

“Get off me,” she hissed, pushing him away.

 

He looked dazed and so confused, before his expression shuttered, disgust overtaking his features. “Fuck. Fuck, sorry, fuck, I didn’t mean, fuck,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. “Like a youngling unable to calm, sorry.”

“You cannot be seen here,” she said, ignoring his self recrimination “too many questions I do  _not_  want to deal with.”

That made him pause, eyes looking at her in a way that made her feel more exposed than she had ever felt. As if he knew her, he said, “Do not use this as an excuse to run.”

“Do not tell me what to do,” she shot back.

“It would figure my soulmate would be the most vexingly beautiful creature to have existed,” he grumbled, stalking into a stall and slamming it shut.

“Excuse me!” a voice outside the door said, knocking angrily, “Some of us need to use the ladies!”

“Oh, um, sorry” Emma cried out, “I must have accidentally turned the lock, so sorry!”

She hurriedly unlocked the door, admitting a frazzled woman into the bathroom, who glared at her before rushing to a stall.

“Sorry!” Emma called again, both to Killian and the lady, and ran out the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is very much welcome. Also, if you'd like to take part in the CS Fanfic Survey, head over to https://form.jotform.me/lilyjames/csffsurvey


	3. Resistance

It felt like  _everyone_  was staring at her. Emma couldn’t tell if she was being paranoid or if the itching and heat all over her body was the culprit. The moisture soaking through her matching lace underwear was uncomfortable and made her too aware of the sensations he’d awoken in her. They needed to leave. Now.

No man she had ever been with had ever, ever garnered such an intense reaction from her body. Not even that artiste who had spent hours mapping her body by the pristine beaches of Thranduilia.

 

She reached Henry, grabbing on to his arm like he was her anchor.

“Mom, what—“ he sputtered, falling silent.

It was at that moment that she realized she must have looked quite a fright.

“I knew it,” Jefferson hissed, eyes widening in alarm.

Even Gracie, who was usually so poised, took one look at Emma, and gasped.

“Papa,” she whispered, “papa, she’s….”

“Hush now, time to go.”

 

“What’s going on?” Henry asked, looking at the three of them, and Emma wanted to cry. An elven couple were looking at her funny, and she didn’t know what was wrong.

“Come now, before anyone really sees anything amiss,” Jefferson said quietly, putting an arm around Emma, ushering them through the back of the room. She couldn’t help but shake him off, the feeling so  _wrong_  that it made her want to heave.

They exited the main hall, all the way down the corridor, when two tall elves stepped forward. They were dressed in the tunics of the Sukrasa, the guardians.

“His Highness has forbidden you to leave. If you follow us, you may find reprieve in —“

“Tell Killian to shove it,” she snarled, rage spiking her blood and distracting her from the other sensations and tugging under her skin. “I told him not to tell me what to do.”

The two Sukrasa’s were not cowed by her anger; merely stared her down. Beside her, Jefferson fidgeted with his sleeve, arm cradled protectively around Gracie.

“You cannot forbid us from leaving when we come at our own leisure,” Jefferson said, speaking to the older Sukrasa.

“Then we shall not,” the older man replied, stepping aside.

“What the? That’s it?” she asked incredulously.

“Not now,” Gracie said, reminding Emma that there was a lot of things about this world she didn’t know.

 

Henry was quiet and tense beside her, and none of them spoke until they were far away from the hall. Jefferson had insisted they adjourn to the park near his house, sitting on one side of the picnic table while she and Henry sat at the other.

“Okay, what just happened?” Henry asked, breaking the silence.

“Your mother, it appears, is in fact elvish,” Jefferson said, with a trace of smugness Emma wanted to punch off. Henry’s jaw dropped, but he said nothing. No one did.

“Half,” Emma clarified, after a beat of silence.

“Excuse me? What do you mean, half?”

“Apparently, I’m half.”

“That’s impossible,” he told her, as if she didn’t know that.

“He called me an impossibility,” she conceded, not really knowing how elven genetics worked.

“He? The prince?” Gracie asked.

“Yes.”

“Have you never been to a Healer before? A hospital?”

“No, never been sick enough for them to take blood.”

“Okay,” Henry said, “but that doesn’t explain why…”

“They Recognized, Henry,” Gracie said, sounding far wiser and older than Emma thought she ought to be.

 

“What? You have a soulmate?!” Henry said, whipping to pin Emma with his stare. “Your soulmate is  _the prince?!”_

 _“_ Well, no one can know for sure,” she began, only to be cut off by Jefferson’s sarcastic laugh.

“Are you kidding? Have you seen yourself? Gracie, you have a mirror, don’t you?”

The girl pulled out her mirror, handing it to Emma, who flipped it open.

 

She gasped.

 

Her eyes, usually a dark forest green, were bright and wide, the gold flecks in them more pronounced, making her seem…elf-like. Her hair felt lighter, but it was brighter too, and as she ran her fingers through it, realized it seemed finer, the strands like thread. Her pale complexion seemed ethereal, and she knew it was because she was different inside. It was like meeting her soulmate had awakened her dormant genes, bringing forth the elvish part of her to the front.

Her ears, however, remained their disappointing rounded shape.

“And that itching you feel? That hollowness? That need?”

Her eyes snapped to Jefferson, who was looking at Gracie instead of her, “That feeling won’t leave. Not until you… you don’t die if you don’t, unconsummated Recognition is never fatal, but you’ll always feel like your body is in the wrong skin. And if you do, and then you lose them, that feeling never goes away.”

 

It clicked, suddenly, as she watched him watch his daughter. Gracie had been born of Recognition. It was said children who were the product of a Recognition, had greater physical, mental and magical gifts than those who were not. The whole point of the phenomenon was to  produce healthy offspring that had the maximum beneficial inherited characteristics of both parents, after all.

And if after all these years, he still felt that physical lost of his mate, no wonder the man acted weird. She suddenly felt sick, imagining living her life knowing she could cure that feeling but doing nothing about it, pretending like Killian didn’t exist.

 

“So what happens now?” Henry asked, looking between the two adults as he attempted to figure it out. Emma wasn’t sure she wanted him to - not until she figured it out first, at least.

“What happens now,” Jefferson said, standing and looking at his watch, “is that the two of you youngsters go to bed, while we discuss some important matters.”

“We should be a part of it,” Gracie said firmly, “after all, it’s something I should know for when my time comes, and what affects Emma affects Henry too.”

Jefferson looked like the idea of Gracie going through Recognition was the last possible thing in all the planets he could possibly want, face souring dramatically as he swallowed his words. If anything, that universal parental feeling of thinking of your adolescent child as a sexual anything made her take pity on Jefferson.

 

“Nice try, but it’s bed for you two.”

Gracie pouted, while Henry just looked at her worriedly. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Are we staying at the Swan’s, papa?”

 

Before Emma could open her mouth and agree to that, Jefferson shook his head.

“No. We’re going to stay at a quaint little place I know, under the name Hatter.”

“That seems rather excessive, don’t you think?”

“Better safe than sorry,” he said, getting up and steering the children down the path.

She didn’t ask exactly what wasn’t safe. Killian wouldn’t hurt her, she knew that, even if she didn’t know him. But he had seemed unstable… like the burn was harder for him. Paranoid though he may be, Jefferson had a point. At least until they figured… something out.

 

After the children were tucked in, Jefferson led her to the kitchen of the Bed & Breakfast. They were its only inhabitants, so it was quiet where they sat at the breakfast bar.

“What are you going to do?” he asked her, after pouring a generous amount of wine into her glass, claiming alcohol would help dull the edge.

“I don’t know. There’s two huge things. One, I’m half-elf, which means, I am, literally, a freak of nature.”

“Plus, I guaranteed you weren’t abandoned. The humans may have instigated the war, and the elves may have pushed back, but all said and done, they would never harm an elven child, half or not. You were probably sent away from protection, if anything.”

“Maybe,” she conceded. “In any case, I’m a long, long way from home. Nysno. If my parents are still alive, well, they’re really far away.”

A pause, then, “Will they run weird experiments on me?”

“Of course,” Jefferson said blankly, “you’re a miracle, Emma.” His lips turned down as he said, “But you’ll also become a political piece, whether you like it or not. Those who fight against Integration will call you an abomination, and those who fight for it will use you as proof that we can inhabit this planet together. The hardiness of the human genetics and the longevity of the elves, among other things.”

 

“Realistically, who will know?”

“The Sukrasa serve the Ruling Noble Family exclusively. They live, breathe and die by their code.”

“They let us pass.”

“It’s in the code.”

 

Emma rolled her eyes, moving on to more important things. “So, as long as Killian keeps his mouth shut, they keep their mouth shut?”

“Yes. Announcing something like this would cause disturbances in both worlds, until there is proof, and until they figure out how this benefits their agenda, you’re safe,” he said, “you best be prepared for what if the  _prince_  doesn’t, though.” he warned, the way he said  _prince_  sounding like an insult to her ears.

“Yeah,” she sighed, taking a large gulp of the wine. Her skin was burning up. She wanted to run a few miles to burn energy, but settled for bouncing her leg up and down instead.

 

“So, are you going to ignore your soulmate?”

“I don’t know. I know, logically, that I shouldn’t.”

“You do realize, that this itch, this need will abate almost immediately after sex, right?”

“What?”

“Surely, you can’t be ignorant to…” he trailed off.

“I’ve never needed to know the details, it’s never concerned me,” she defended.

 

He sighed. “I suppose, one day, hate as I do, I will have to speak to Gracie about this. Well, might as well start with you.”

He sighed again, taking a sip of his own wine, and squared his shoulders.

“You see, when two elves Recognize,” he said, ignoring her muttered  _half-elf_ comment, “their soul meets when their eyes do. You, I, everything in this universe is created from the stars. The ether, the cosmic dust. The energy from where you are created has its own musical energy, a vibration.”

 

She nodded, paying attention despite the buzz in her brain willing her to move. To consume.

“Most of this energy isn’t sentient, so of course, there is no pull, but sometimes, two beings are created from the same space of energy. You match, on every particle of your being. That is your soulmate. Does it happen to everyone? No. Do their personalities always match yours? No. Does it always end happily? No.”

 

“I’ve read about that,” she said, remembering reading a magazine about how nasty a soulmate break could be.

“But when it does, it consumes you. Every part of you is screaming to be reunited with its mate. So all you need to do, to satiate that, is, well, mate. His seed must flow uninhibited to you,” he said.

 

Emma made a face of disgust, letting out a long string of ewwww’s.

“Hmm, I should reword that when I tell Gracie, yes?”

“Yes, dear sweet lord almighty, never use that sentence again.”

“Alright then, what do you suggest?”

“What I get is that… he has to cum in you to fix the edge?”

“How is that less crass?!”

“It wasn’t, I was just clarifying!”

“Right. Well, he has to…” Jefferson trailed off, taking a deep breath. “He must ejaculate without any protection, and you must not in any way alter your chemical composition either. No emergency contraceptions, or anything.”

 

“Is  _that_  why it usually ends up in a kid?”

“Essentially, yes. There’s plenty of literature about how the mixing of the basic seeds of life is what harmonizes the body.”

“Yeah, there’s no way to reword this section without being 100% gross.”

He sighed again. “That’s essentially it. But the feeling is so good, the person feels so right, that most of the time, they become your mate for life.”

 

“Is that how you had Gracie?” she asked, after a moment of silence.

He sent her a sharp look, never one for sharing personal information.

“Yes, and her mother died in childbirth, as they often do. Gracie barely made it, but she’s a strong girl.” The finality in his tone let her know that was all he was going to say on the matter.

“Soooo…. I just need to find the prince, fuck him, and I can go back to my regularly scheduled life?”

“In theory, I suppose.”

“Okay, that sounds like a plan.”

“It really doesn’t.”

“It’s a solid, 10 out of 10 plan.”

Jefferson sighed again, draining his wine.

 

 

Emma could not sleep.

Torment.

There was no other word to describe what she was experiencing; the dull throbbing between her thighs pulsing through to where her womb would be. Recognition triggered ovulation, the book Jefferson had left for her had said. But it wasn’t quite time for her yet, so she wasn’t sure how that worked. Still, it felt like everything below the waist throbbed, and her chest felt hollow.

 

In the quiet of the small private guest room, Emma let a whimper escape her lips as she lay curled on her side, the book open. The words were blurry and out of her focus as she gripped a pillow between her thighs, walking herself through the sensations.

‘Fucking it out of her system’ seemed like she was letting herself down. She could take a challenge. She could override fate and the universe. She was stronger than this bullshit.

Emma wasn’t weak. She would obey her brain over her body.

 _“It’s just Day 1, Emma. You just need to learn how to deal,_ ” she told herself soothingly.

She didn’t dare close her eyes again, as Killian’s lips had flashed clearly through her memory, the bright blue of his gaze searing her. Her imagination outdid itself as it imagined the lithe elf above her, his body merging with hers. She was so wet and lush down there that it was easy to imagine the essence that coated her was his.

 

What sort of lover would he be like?

 

She’d had a few elves, both male and female, some with grace, but some encounters, with strength. She wondered, lying there, even as she told herself to stop thinking about it, if Killian was the kind of lover to give pleasure first. Many elves were like that - the longer they had lived, the more patience they had, the more they understood that true pleasure was in giving first, before receiving.

But there were a few others, the younger ones, who loved their displays of strength, like the she-elf who had fingered Emma so hard she’d bruised her to the point of blood. Killian fingers would fit well in her, she thought suddenly, remembering the way he’d curled them around her neck.

 

She wondered if he’d also curl them around her neck in passion - did he have the need to justpossess? Was he lying wherever it was he lived, his large fingers wrapped around his swollen manhood, attempting to alleviate the need?

She’d given it a go herself, had rubbed the ridiculously swollen flesh of her sex, tweaked the tight little nubs her nipples had become, had flicked and flicked herself until her back had arched off the bed, only to realize that it wasn’t  _quite_  what her body needed.

 

 _“It always seems like the worst ever when you first get hit, but then you adjust,”_  she whispered, rubbing her belly in gentle circles.

“ _All you have to do, Emma, Emma my girl, my buddy, my pal, is stay the fuck away from that really hot, how the fuck is he so hot, elf. Recognition is for making cute little elf babies that for reasons I can’t figure out tends to lead to their mother’s death, what the fuck is that about, how can they have not figured out how to make that not happen, and anyway, you don’t need an elf baby, or a human baby, or whatever, so just stay the fuck away, ride out this wave of lust and sex crazy bitch in heat thing you have going on, give it a few days and treat this like a period but inverse and then it’ll go away and you’ll learn to deal and you can stay away from this mess and you’re good. Whoo,”_ she rambled under her breath.

It may not have been the most motivational or inspirational self-talks, but she believed herself, and that was what truly mattered.


	4. Relief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our story earns it M rating here, you have been warned.

 

In the morning, way before the kids woke, Jefferson took one look at her and ordered her to go home.

“You need a long, long shower. Then decide if you’re going to fuck or fight,” he’d said.

She’d given him a dour look, even as he congratulated himself for the ‘funny’ comment.

He also reminded her he was doing his best to help her. Then, with a pointed stare, told her it was the weekend and that Henry had clothes there.

She did her best not to snap at him on her way out, as a show of gratitude for his support.

 

* * *

 

It took him all of 5 minutes to knock on her door.

She swung the door open, hand on her hips. “Seriously?”

Her  _I just fucking got home_ died on the tip of her tongue as she took him in.

He was in a pair of jeans and a button down shirt, blue eyes bloodshot, skin unhealthily pale. He looked like a human drug addict, with his hands jammed into his pockets, shaking slightly, unable to stand still.

“Emma,” he whispered, body pitching forward, “I’m sorry,” he apologized, before pushing the door with his shoulder and stepping into her apartment. Instinctively, Emma grabbed the umbrella next to her in defense.

“I tried,  _I really did,_ ” he apologized, eyes taking in her stance, “but I couldn’t. Liam said, just find the girl and talk to her, they were going to Trace you, so I said no and came here, to let you know it was okay, but it isn’t, I…”

Somewhere in-between his rambling, alarming disposition, and close proximity, Emma felt her hardline resolve to push him away crumble. She slipped the umbrella back into its stand with a resigned acceptance.

As if she hadn’t spend all night building a defense as to why letting him near her was a bad idea.

A  _terrible_  idea.

It was just…he looked even worse than her doubts did, and, god, the whimper he let out as he took a breath broke her heart.

 

“Hey, hey, just. Breathe,” she said, stepping behind him and placing a hand across his heart. Her body awakened like she had gone directly under the hot sun, but she focused on their breathing.

“Breathe, Killian.”

He grasped her hands with his, breathing heavily.

She kicked the door closed, wrapping both arms around him. With their bodies pressed tightly, she rested her cheek on his back.

 

“What’s your favorite color?”

“The mix of blue and green of the ocean,” he said, breathing still heavy.

“I thought elves hate the ocean.”

“As a species,” he faltered, taking another deep breath, “as a species, we’re not partial to it, but it calls to me.”

“Favorite place?” she pushed on, ignoring the mild dizziness she was beginning to feel.

He took another deep ragged breath before answering, “Alicante.”

“Favorite food?”

“Pizza.”

“Really?”

“Aye, best thing in the whole world.”

“Favorite piece of music?”

“The joined beat of our hearts.”

Emma choked at the unexpected answer, but pressed on.

“What are you afraid of?”

“Dying alone.”

“Orange or apples?”

“Neither, I like bananas.”

Before she could ask another question, he asked, with an evenly measured, deep breath, “And yours?”

“Apples, and I fear being unwanted.”

He turned in her arms, regarding her seriously. Emma did her best not to lean in as she faced him.

 

“I apologize for my lack of decorum before. I believe I worked myself into anxiety.”

“It’s okay, I would have too, if I didn’t have a friend who talked me through it.”

Something flashed across his face as he asked, “The elf who accompanied you?”

“The father of my son’s best friend. I’m lucky to have him as a friend too,” she said, unnecessarily explaining herself.

“You have a son?” he asked, surprised.

“Adopted, but my son nonetheless.”

“Of course. Where is he?”

“Staying at aforementioned friend’s house.”

“Oh.” He nodded, eyes seeming to take in all the pictures of Henry and her.

“What would you like to do? About this situation?” she asked, when it seemed he wasn’t going to say anything but move restlessly from side to side.

“Ah, well,” he began, the pointy tips of his ears turning bright red.

“I mean, we could  _do it_  and get it over with,” she offered, not sure which she hoped for more - his rejection, or his compliance.

“I have no intention of simply  _getting over_  anything. I would like to know you, elf to elf,” he said, walking further into her home as he spoke. She ignored the soul-deep cry for him to come back to her.

 

He picked up a frame on the mantel, as Emma moved closer, barely aware of her own movement.

“Your memories, your habits, you. I’d like to at least have that chance.”

She wondered suddenly, if true heartbreak and rejection would be to: find a soulmate, get to know them, and for them to then decide the person they got to know wasn’t at all what they wanted. If your own soulmate didn’t want you, who would? Why risk it?

“Can we at least get rid of this itch first, and then decide if we still want to do that?”

He moved, closing the distance between them. He didn’t touch her, save to bring his hand to her shoulder, skimming it down her arm.

“Is that truly what you want?”

“I just want to stop feeling like I need to rip my skin out.”

“And then?”

“Well, once I get the ability to think straight, I’ll let you know.”

 

Without warning, he put his arms around her, and pulled her body flush to his.

“Whatever you need, it’s yours,” he whispered into her ear, sending a tidal wave of need through her body. She wondered when the tables had turned, how he was suddenly the one under control, measured, poised.

There was a moment of indecision - they could fight this. They had just done it. She had calmed him down, and now he was doing the same for her. They could, realistically, resist the impulse.

They could be strong.

His arms tightened around her, as they quietly stood in each other’s arms. Emma shivered, clutching at his shirt.

 

 _Fuck it,_ she thought.

“Bedroom,” she commanded, as she placed a long, tight-lipped kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“What, no foreplay?” he attempted to tease, his voice coming out hoarse as he turned his head to hers, zeroing on her lips. His lips broke the seal of hers, opening as he immediately sought out her tongue.

“I’m wet and I need you,” she managed to say in between kisses, and when he pulled back to say something, she cut him off by zeroing on the soft skin of his neck, sucking a mark and whispered, “Are you going to fuck me or keep talking?”

“Oh fuckity fuck, you have a mouth on you, my actual dream come true.”

Supporting his hands behind her thigh, he tugged, until she brought her legs around his waist and locked it behind his back.

“Is this a safe time to be doing this?” he asked, between sucking and biting on her neck.

 

She was somewhat surprised he’d brought it up. Then again, she didn’t actually  _know_  him, despite what the cocktail of hormones coursing through her was saying.

“Mmm,” she said, biting on her lip to think of her last period, “it should be. I think.”

“Are you really willing to find out?”

“What happens if it happens?” she asked, raking her nails through his silken hair and tugging.

“I know you don’t yet believe me, but I plan to be very involved in your life. For as long as you’ll have me.”

“You don’t know me,” she warned, tugging him into a kiss.

“Ah, but I would very much like to,” he said, punctuating that by grinding himself on her.

 

They didn’t say anything else as he carried her effortlessly to her bedroom, depositing her with more care than she expected, given how ramped up they were.

She was hot all over, body itchy with need, as if ten thousand pleasure ants were crawling across her skin. It was inconceivable to think how anyone could possibly resist this with someone they’d Recognized. It was inconceivable to think that  _she_  had considered they ignore this.

“Killian, please.”

He was shaking, jaw clenched so hard she could see his muscles jumping. “I don’t want to do this like some heathen. You deserve more than anything I will ever have to give.”

“You don’t know anything about me or what I deserve,” she reminded him.

“But I want to. I don’t need to know your story to know I’m two seconds to being in love with you.”

The hand gripping his collar tightened in warning. She regarded the crazy elf and his ridiculously adorable ears, even as she contemplated biting and sucking on them.

“Don’t say things like that,” she warned.

“I say what I mean, Emma. I know this sounds too much for you but I’ve been alive long enough to know this. Anything I learn about you is surely to only enrich what I already feel. And I don’t want our first time to be me, rutting like a barbarian into you.”

“Maybe that’s what I need right now,” she growled at him, getting impatient with his dawdling and pouncing on his lips. Whatever his ideas on love, she didn’t share it.

 

There was no hesitation in his reciprocation. Killian’s lips opened for her, tongue meeting hers and hands grabbing her waist so she was atop him. Emma wiggled, aligning her body to his, drawing a guttural groan deep from his belly.

She ground herself down on him, the hardness against the press of her clit making her keen into his mouth. He was biting on her lip, hands running up and down her body, only to shove her to the side suddenly.

“What the—“

“Too much clothes,” he bit out, even as he grabbed her top and pulled it up. Emma raised her hands to help, and he flung it away.

 

“Fuck, look at those breasts, how are your nipples so perky, we must have been made from the best part of the universe,” he was mumbling, moving towards her breasts with focused intent.

She could do nothing but frame his head as his mouth descended on her bra-clad breasts, sucking and tugging through the thin lace. She reached behind to quickly snap the clasp open, flinging it somewhere in the general vicinity of her shirt.

 

She cried out at the sudden sensation of the tongue, lips, saliva and breath. Here was an elvish prince who had clearly been alive long enough to have acquired some insane amount of skill.

“This is great,” she moaned out, “but I need you inside me ten minutes ago.”

She felt like she might spontaneously combust if not.

“Take off my pants,” he grumbled, as he continued to suck on her breasts, alternating with biting onto her neck and leaving marks on her clavicle.

She didn’t realize how much she was trembling until she had to unbutton his jeans, the material stiff and unyielding as she fought with it, accidentally-on-purpose brushing his length as she did.

“Finally,” she muttered as it came free, hurriedly unzipping him and shoving the material down, bringing his gloriously red, throbbing cock into full view.

 

“Fuck, what the hell.”

“What?” he asked, nose buried under her left breast.

“That’s going to hurt!” she accused, taking his above average girth even as she eyed him hungrily, anticipating the stretch. She could feel the smirk against her skin, but he didn’t answer her. Instead, he tugged her leggings and underwear down, and in one swift motion, plunged a finger into her.

“Mmrgh,” she grunted at the sudden intrusion.

She was wet. Her thighs were wet, the squelching sound of his lone finger inside her, the slippery feeling of everything between her legs were a testament to that. Perhaps, she had never been this wet in her life, but it was hard to think of past memories as he removed his hand  to bring it to his lips, and replaced his finger with the head of his cock.

“You’re fucking delicious.”

“Can I taste?” she asked, opening her eyes to watch his blue darken as he kept bumping his cock against her waiting slit. He moaned, muttering something in elvish too low for her to hear.

He rubbed his thumb and finger together, brushing the coated digit against the corner of her mouth. Emma licked to taste herself. Damn, she tasted good.

“Stop looking like that, or this is going to be over before I even get in you,” he said, grabbing her breasts as leverage as he positioned himself.

 

Killian seemed on the very threshold of thrusting into her like every instinct in his body demanded that he do, just as hers begged to be filled.

But he paused, even though she could feel him  _right_ there.

She wasn’t sure what he was thinking; so before he could come up with some other nonsense about wanting to do this right, Emma made her impatience known. With an abrupt upward thrust of her hips, Killian's cock was suddenly plunged into slick, tight-as-fuck satin.

At least, that’s what he said it felt like, as his hips stuttered against hers at that first intrusion - not that she could be acutely cognizant about the goings of everything, considering the air seemed to have been sucked out of her lungs the very moment he moved.

He cried out her name above her. She shuddered as her body arched into his.

 

He was big, but he felt  _so good._  The kind of pleasure-pain you could get addicted to. Fuck. No wonder people didn’t resist their soulmates.

Amazingly, she felt the flutterings of an orgasm approaching already, even though they’d barely done anything.

He pulled his hips back and thrusted to the hilt with a grunt. Emma forgot much of anything as her head fell back and her hands fell to the side, grabbing the middle of her feet to spread herself wider.

Killian withdrew and slapped his cock against her clit, taunting, until she begged at him to  _please, oh please._ Only then did he continue, rotating his hips to pound in and out of her.

He was slurring, “such delicious quim,” using very human slangs, and “fuck, fuck so right, so tight, fuccccck, Emmmaaaa” and she, never being one for talk  _in flagrante_ , could only moan to encourage the pace he was setting. Hard. Fast. Deep.

 

There was nothing else in the world. Nothing but the drag of him inside her. His hands roaming her body but always coming back to grip her breasts and neck. Nothing but the slap of skin on skin.

She shut her eyes, closed them hard as she felt it coming, lengthening her calves and screaming, as he brought two fingers to her clit in the same moment.

She could hear him still going, could feel his movements faltering, sloppily colliding into her, could feel her breasts wobbling and bouncing in time but Emma was floating.

Like a wave swelling to a crescendo, only to fall, she felt the ripple echo through her being. The warm buzz spread through her every extremity as she experienced the most wildly satisfying orgasm of her life.

 

He was fondling and plucking her sensitive breasts, and then, just as the aftershocks and flutterings began to wade, he stilled. Emma could feel the pulsing, could imagine the unexpectedly erotic image of his warm seed spilling into her.

He groaned, bracing himself as he lowered his body, caging her in.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, this was good, thanks.”

He was still inside her, face close to hers.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he announced, as though they hadn’t just fucked like rabbits.

Instead, she said, “Okay.”


	5. Refrain

They’d fucked (made love, Killian had corrected her in that annoying way of his) three more times that first night, with one impressive session lasting a good hour as they’d edged each other into orgasms she’d probably never be able to recreate.

Then she’d all but kicked him out, telling him she needed time.

* * *

Henry watched her as if she was a particularly difficult game level he couldn’t figure out. He had surprised her by the complete lack of questions and curiosity about what had happened after he returned from the Jefferson’s house that weekend.

Emma wanted to ask what it was exactly, that Jefferson had told her son, but was too much of a coward to actually do so. Especially because she’d then have to explain things she didn’t want to.

Instead, she endured three mornings of him looking at her funny before he left for school, his eyes alternating between his breakfast and his cell, the newest communicator money could buy. She didn’t often spoil Henry, but when she did… well.

Still, he was beginning to grate on her nerves, the way he kept looking at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. So much so, that on the fourth day since she had shut the door in Killian’s face, Emma snapped.

“Okay,  _what_  is going on with you?”

“Nothing is going on with me,” Henry answered, without even raising his head to look at her.

“Hey, I am talking to you.”

“Nothing.is.going.on,” he enunciated slowly and clearly, looking her straight in the eye. His irritation belied his words, and she bit down her own irritation.

“You still talking to that Violet girl, is that what’s going on here?” she goaded.

“No. I don’t even like her.”

“Uhuh.”

“I don’t! And you’re one to talk!”

 _Ah, there it is,_  she thought smugly.

“Oh? What’s that mean kid?”

He glared at her in such a familiar way that her chest ached at how much of her mannerisms he’d picked up in two short years.

“Nothing.”

“Henry, come on,” she tried.

He slammed his spoon on the table, pushing his chair back as he stood abruptly. Emma was alarmed at the sudden glistening in his eyes, as his face twisted in anger.

“You just going to keep ignoring the fact that you have a soulmate?!”

“Seriously, kid, no offense but—

“I’m going to grow old, and you’re going to watch me die, and you’re GOING TO BE ALONE AND SAD,” he yelled, and then, to her utmost and complete horror, broke down sobbing at the breakfast table.

She gaped, before she rushed to his side. Emma hugged him tightly to her chest as she rocked him as if he was a toddler.

“Oh Henry,” she said, tears springing forth to her eyes as his cries didn’t abate.

“I know you told me you had a hard life and I remember when you adopted me you said you needed to learn to love,” he said between sobs, “but you really didn’t need to learn it mum,  _you always knew._ Why  _won’t you be happy_?”

“Henry, I am happy,” she said earnestly, wiping her tears in his hair.

“But you’re elvish, and I’m not, and I don’t want you to be alone. Why can’t you be happy with Killian? He really wants to try.”

Still reeling from the words  _I’ll grow old and you’ll watch me die,_ it took her a few moments to realize what he’d said.

“How do you know what he wants?”

Her suspicions, (and Henry’s guilt) became apparent when his crying choked, coming to a silent end even as he remained tightly within her arms.

“Henry?”

“Isn’t it obvious that it’s something a soulmate would want?” he said as an attempt of explanation. She wasn’t buying it.

“Has he contacted you?” she asked incredulously, wanting to track down Killian just so she could kill him for overstepping.

Just then, the communicator he’d left on the table vibrated.

 _Oh, you’ve got to be joking_ , she thought.

“Henry Swan! Is that him right now? Is that who you’ve been messaging?”

Pulling away and hastily wiping his tears, “He sent only one, at first, and told me you wouldn’t appreciate him talking to me about five times before he finally caved.”

“He’s right.”

If some part of her was surprised at Henry’s loyalty in defending Killian, she didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, she glared at her son.

With a sigh, he pulled his communicator, and scrolled. And scrolled. And scrolled quite a bit more, before landing to what she assumed was the first ever message.

“Here,” he said, thrusting it to her face.

_Mae g'ovannen, young Mr. Swan. This is Killian, the elf prince who spoke to your mother at the ball. You have a very loyal friend by the name of Gracie. She wanted to know, on your behalf, (actually it was more of a warning, to be sure) whether the kingdom would call your mother away to learn the elvish way, thus separating you. I am happy to inform you that your life, the two of you, will go on absolutely uninterrupted. However, should you ever find yourself in an emergency, you may reach me personally anytime. Humbly yours, Killian Aearinön._

Her eyes drifted below to the other messages, but Henry snatched the device before she could see more than the next message of him asking Killian if he really was her soulmate.

To be sure, Killian’s message was masterfully done. Perfectly diplomatic, bordering on polite concern, but strategic in bypassing her objection in exchanging any details.

“This is not cool, Henry.”

“If I had Recognized, would you want me to run away from my chance at happiness?”

“I’d want you to do whatever makes you happy.”

“And does ignoring this make you happy?” he challenged.

“Things are never that simple. You don’t just Recognize, and boom, happy ending! The world,  _love_  doesn’t work that way, okay. He’s the prince, he’s 300 years old, there is so, so much more going on than just hormones or whatever Recognition is.”

“Ah, so you’re scared,” he taunted.

Emma watched him, marveling on some plane, how he adopted her techniques and turned them on her. He was smart, but he was also a teenager, who still saw things in shades of black and white, rather than the shades of grey that made the world.

“You’re going to be late to school.”

He opened his mouth, probably to argue, so she cut him off.

“School. You’re going to be late for it, and this topic is off the table. School, now.”

He gaped at her, shut his mouth, eyes storming as he said, “Fine! Fine, I don’t know why I bothered.”

Emma sighed loudly as he grabbed his things and left, slamming the door shut behind him. Maybe she could have handled it better, but maybe Henry was also blossoming into a teenager with mood swings so she’d probably not win either way.

Great.

* * *

“You’ve been really weird,” Ashley, her soft-spoken co-worker told her during lunch.

Emma did her best not to roll her eyes as she bit into a slice of pizza. “How so?”

“I don’t know. Something’s different. Did you lighten your hair or something? Get a Glitter injection?”

“Do I seriously look like one of those wanna-be’s who think looking elvish is a fashion trend?”

“Well no, otherwise you’d start with surgery on your ears. Oh my gosh, that was not meant as an insult!”

 _Thank heavens for rounded ears, the true invisibility cloak of elvish heritage_ , she thought sardonically.

“I don’t know what’s weird, except I started this new detox,” she lied. As predicted, Ashley, the self-proclaimed connoisseur of all things healthy, practically lit up in excitement.

“No wonder your skin is radiant, you’re finally eating vegetables!” and then proceeded to launch into the benefits of every vegetable known to both elf and humankind.

* * *

There was no longer the itching, need to rip her skin off and roll around in sandpaper. In fact, she was still coasting from the high of Killian’s administrations, how he’d taken time to learn her body and likes in the one night they’d spent together.

She couldn’t deny the ache in her chest though, the one that told her in the short time of talking and fucking, she’d revealed more of herself than to anyone, and instead of pity or judgement, he’d simply reciprocated with tales of his own life, tales of neglect despite being an elven prince, the deception and political intrigue that had cost him centuries of his life.

It was easy to ignore; what wasn’t, was Henry’s baleful stares and increased frequency of messaging when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. She debated against saying anything to him, knowing it would only make him rebel more. She wondered if Henry was just looking for a male figure to talk to; he wasn’t particularly close to Jefferson, and he didn’t have much friends besides Gracie. Killian was an odd choice - she wasn’t even sure if he’d  _met him_ , but Emma  _knew_  why he chose to build a relationship with him.

It’s what made her do it, as much as her stomach turned to ash as she did. She moved as stealthily as she could while Henry took his infamously long showers (and did her damnedest  _not_  to think about _that_ ).

She was in his communicator within 2 minutes, and pulled the ID, valiantly avoiding reading the messages. This was bad enough as it was. This, this she could sort-of explain away.

Reading his messages? That was not something Henry would forgive easily. She copied the ID, and took care to place his communicator the way she found it.

In her own room, she bit her lip as she contemplated how to go about it.

 _Who the fuck do you think you are, talking to my son behind my back?_ she typed, then deleted before she could hit send.

_WHO gave you the right to think you could just talk to Henry?_

She deleted that too.

_What exactly, do you think you’re doing talking to a boy you’ve never even met?_

That, Emma mused, was threatening enough, without outright attacking him, and taking into account Henry’s own tenacity at getting answers when he wanted them.

With a deep breath, she sent it.

She expected an answer immediately, and was disappointed when she received none. It seemed, unlike Henry and herself, Killian wasn’t glued to his communicator.  

His answer came after dinner. Henry had retreated to his room to finish his school work (or message Gracie or Violet, or maybe both, who knew, these days).

_I was wondering when you’d get around to chewing me out._

_And not the good kind,_  a second message followed almost immediately.

For a 300 year old elf, his inability to tamper his brassy language was appalling. She rolled her eyes.

 _You didn’t answer the question_ , she replied.

 _Who says I haven’t met Henry?_  was his answer, which made her hackles raise immediately.

She enabled talk.

He picked up on the first ring.

“You sought him out?” she said, containing her yell, but it was a close thing.

“ _Mae g'ovannen_  to you too, Swan,” surprising her by the use of her surname, “yes, I’ve been doing fine if a little bereft, thank you so much for inquiring.”

“You went behind my back and saw my son?!” she hissed.

“I’m not one to tittle-tattle, but for the sake of clarity, it was your boy and his friend who sought me. And before you get mad at him, they were accompanied by an adult.”

“Let me guess,” she said dryly, “Jefferson.”

“The one and same. The lovely Gracie needed to use the library for her work,” he explained, in a tone that told Emma he believed them as much as she did, “and she seemed to know that I was to be there meeting the Head of the B.E.A.S.T. That is the Bureau of Elvish Awareness and Species Theory.”

Emma snorted, “That’s a rather unfortunate name.”

“Ah, never let it be said that the elves of old didn’t have a sense of humor.”

“Fine. So why are you  _continuing_  to talk to my son?”

“Well,” and here he faltered slightly, giving Emma the distinct impression that he was finding the combination of words least likely to offend her, “that is, I think, a great question, Swan. Such a good question a mother could ask her son for some quality bonding time.”

“Cut the crap.”

“You may think I’m joking, but I really am quite serious about you asking him. The boy is lonely.”

“He’s got—“

“You, and Gracie, yes” he interrupted her, “but there are things he wants to talk to that he can’t with the two of you, and he was under the impression that he would be seeing more of me—“

“I hope you corrected him about that! He doesn’t need more people in his life disappointing him.”

“I… okay, I’m going to not ask about that backstory right now, and I did tell him that well, whatever becomes of us, this, it’s up to you as much as it’s up to me.”

“This isn’t becoming anything.”

Killian’s sigh was loud. “Really?”

That one word was infused with so much sarcasm that Emma rolled her eyes.

“Emma,” Killian said, when she remained silent, “I told you, I’m willing to wait. I’m willing to be patient. I cannot possibly understand what you must be going through - but I want to help. If you wish to seek your parents, there are ways. I have resources. If you simply want to learn about what being an elf means to you, I want to help. You don’t have to do this alone, Emma.”

His tone was so earnest and sincere that it almost brought tears to her eyes. She was grateful she hadn't enabled the hologram function, not sure what she’d do if she had to see him say that with those wide eyes and gentle look.

“Thank you,” she said, voice coming out in a choked whisper.

“It is customary for Noble Elves to invite elvish children to tea, to honor them and make sure they grow knowing who they are and their history. Children rearing is a community effort here. My point is, I was about to extend an invitation to Gracie for next weekend. Considering you’ve missed out on this tradition, and considering Henry would be loathe to miss out, perhaps you could join us.”

“Next week?” she repeated.

“Saturday, Noble Embassy of Alamané, 1600.”

“I’ll think about.”

“I’ll tell Gracie to be discreet about it while you do.”

“Thank you, Killian.”

* * *

On Isilya, the first day of the week, he sent her the official invite. It was beautiful; made from dried leaf and twine, written in aurum ink in flowing script inviting them to tea.

Not that she could be sure exactly, what it said, considering it was written in completely in Elvish. It started with  _Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn_ , which she knew meant  _a star shines upon our hour of meeting_ , but that was far as she got. She had sent him back a message that simply said  _???????????????_ and he had translated it for her.

What had truly caught her attention, however, was the signature. It was signed by Killian, and she would deny it to her grave that upon seeing his graceful signature, she had lifted the invite to her nose to breathe in a possibility of his scent.

The day after, Aldúya, he sent her a message about dress codes (that he didn’t actually care about, but protocols). That sparked a long conversation about clothes and fashion in general, surprising her by how they both seemed partial to mushroom-leather jackets.

The next day, and the one after, there just seemed to be something that needed to be said to one another. Something to talk about. Some observation that needed to be shared. If Emma was being honest with herself, she would’ve admitted that it felt good sharing things from her day and life with him. If she was being honest, she would’ve admitted that she looked forward to his messages and holograms, often feeling a twinge of disappointment when it was someone else.

If she was being honest, she’d have admitted that the idea of seeing him again made her aflutter with anticipation and nerves. Luckily for her, she didn’t have to admit anything to anyone, much less herself. Besides, she had Henry’s nervous energy to focus on.

“Do I need to shave?” Henry asked her, staring seriously at his jaw in the mirror.

Emma squashed her laughter, though she couldn’t stop her lips from twitching. “Oh Henry, no, not yet, kid.”

 _Oh gods, puberty was fast approaching_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had quite a week. If you'd like to leave a little encouragement, I would be appreciative. Thanks for reading.


	6. Reciprocate

 

Killian Aearinön had lived a life of strife, despite being Noble born. Of course, his older and wiser brother, William Beriothien, would often comment that said strife was a result of his own actions and self-recrimination. Liam, as Killian called him, wasn’t wrong.

“What was the instruction?” his brother asked, brow furrowed with worry.

Liam worried too much. Between his bride, Elsa Arendelle, and Liam’s own tendency for anxiety and worry, it was a wonder the two functioned at all. Unlike the humans, who suffered more from physical maladies than psychological ones, elves were far, far more susceptible to injuries of the brain.

If they weren’t dying of childbirth, Killian mused, they were running Nightlock into their blood for a quick death.

“Killian!”

Giving his brother his focus, Killian said, “For her own safety, I delivered the instruction as The Sukrasa said. Remain human to those who know her as human, reveal her as an elf to society, with the story that she was simply living in secret. No mention of halves.”

Liam strode closer, blue-grey eyes delivering a piercing gaze. “And she can be trusted?”

Killian felt his temper rise. “Of course she can!”

“You don’t actually know her, brother. A consummation does not a soulmate make,” he said, pacing the length of the mahogany table that stood as the centerpiece.

“I know enough to know she can be trusted. As can the other three.”

“You have no idea what sort of danger you’ll unleash if word gets out, I mean it, Killian. This is serious. For once, please take this seriously.”

“I know that! I’m not a youngling, Liam. Stop treating me like one.”

“Perhaps if you —“ his brother cut himself off, swallowing whatever insulting thing he had been about to say, and said instead, “I am glad you’re back to high society. Things have changed, and they have not. You’ve lived with humans for a total of what? 150 years now? You’ve adopted some of their…mannerisms, and not in a flattering way.”

“Yes, like when people annoy them, they tell them to bugger off.”

“Now that’s just rude.”

Killian flipped him an obscene human hand motion.

“You’ve been tight-lipped about this Emma. If she’s a lost child, her parents are sure to be looking for her.”

He nodded, drumming his fingers on the table. “I checked; there was no missing report of an elven girl matching her age or appearance.”

“Hmm. Come to think of it, that makes sense. If she’s a hybrid, they’d have wanted it kept hush. Plus, she’s Nysnian; it’s not like those elves have ever trusted us.”

“I don’t know if she even wants to find them. This whole thing has been overwhelming for her; she’s been using the ignore-it-until-it-goes-away strategy. With her heritage, with _me_.”

Killian was unsuccessful in keeping the bitterness out of his voice. He dropped his gaze to the little decorative windmill on the table, spinning its blades to distract himself.

“Well, she’s still coming later, isn’t she? That’s a start.”

“Only to the Embassy. I don’t want her meeting the serpent. Who knows what she’d say to her. Wait does she even know that I Recognized…”

“Stop calling her that. Of course she does. It’s just within the family, you’re safe.”

“That’s a relief, though who knows who she’s hissssssssed to.”

“Oh shut up. Just so you know, I’ll be there.”

“What???”

“Oh yes, you really think I’d miss meeting your soulmate? My little brother’s Recognized half?” Liam’s smirk was unbearable, his posture so casual he could only be faking it.

“You’re the worst elf in the history of elves, I hope you know.”

“Stop being dramatic. I invited Belle, to make Emma and her son feel comfortable. Belle is the human equivalent of a library, and she _is_  Head of the B.E.A.S.T. I can truly think of no one else as perfect to fill in the blanks about our culture.”

“This was supposed to be a quiet tea,” Killian huffed.

Liam shook his head, no doubt judging Killian as a child, despite the fact that their age gap was a mere 10 years. A single petal difference in a forest bloom, but to hear Liam tell it, one would think Killian was an infant human, and Liam a wise old sage. It was maddening.

“Do you think this could work?” Liam asked after pouring himself a cup of fresh honey tea.

His perpetually concerned face was soft, curly blonde hair kept in place by the ice-inspired circlet he often wore to honor Elsa. Maddening though he may be, Liam was the best brother an elf could ask for. The look on his face mirrored the look he had when Killian had fallen out of a tree, breaking his bones in three places; as if this whole endeavor was the same sort of dangerous recklessness he’d exhibited as a youngling.

“I believe so. I chose to live as a human for Milah. I loved her. I always will. But Emma, Emma is different. This is different.”

“Killian…I’m sorry to suggest this but… do you suppose this thing with Emma is simply a matter of chemistry, rather than a matter of heart?”

There was an almost visceral need to defend his feelings, an anger so swift he could’ve wrung his hands around his brother’s neck. He fought the impulse, forcing himself to truly consider his brother’s question. After all, he had, in those early hours, had the same questions.

It felt like a betrayal to confess his heart, especially about the first few hours following his introduction with soulmate, but this was Liam. Who could he truly trust, if not him?

“I hated it, at first. She ran, twice that day. She made it clear that her actions were the effect of the Recognition, and not for any real desire to know me. She didn’t seem as affected as I did. I thought…I thought maybe I hallucinated it.”

“You checked with The Sukrasa,” Liam reminded him.

“I know. But a half-elf? That’s a myth and propaganda people like Her Highness, Snake Queen Consort, tell to fear-monger elves about the Bad Things That Happen When We Mix With Humans.”

“Killian,” Liam warned, tone infused with a world of warning. He ignored the rebuke about their step-mother.

“You know that’s what she thinks, even if she isn’t forthright about it. Anyway, it was highly possible that they had mixed her blood and Henry’s. Full or half elf, I thought I was going crazy, except it’s impossible to ignore that feeling.”

“What was it like?”

“I told you, remember, when you said we should just put the Trace on her and be done with it.”

“Actually, what you told me was, and I quote,  _I’m dying Liam, I’m dying._ Hardly descriptive. _”_

Killian rolled his eyes, moving to swipe his brother’s mug for a sip.

“It’s a burning sensation, like the skin under your skin is on fire. You can’t scratch it. Your throat feels like you’ve been screaming for years, but no amount of water quenches it.”

Liam watched him with wide eyes. For the first time, Killian felt like he was being taken seriously. Figured.

“There’s a ringing in your ears, like you’ve stood next to a gong after it’s gone off. And the worst thing is… well, you can relieve yourself as much as you want, but it hurts. The humans have a term for it, though I’m not sure why they use the color blue to describe it. Nor do I think they understand what exactly, it means for one to have ‘Blue Balls’”.

“Oh. I’m sorry, I had no idea.”

“Yes, well.”

“So you can be happy with her? And her human child?”

“It would be too easy to fall in love with Emma Swan, Liam. Just wait till you meet her.”

“Sure, can’t wait.”

Killian ignored the slight sarcasm. His brother was a damn worrier.

* * *

Emma eyed the silver pears, Asiménia, a delicacy of the Nobles. While she usually, genuinely, enjoyed elvish food, this was  _awful_. She did her best to school her expression, but she knew she was kidding no one.

Henry, through sheer teenage obstinacy, was scarfing down his food as though he liked the taste. No doubt, she thought wryly, because Gracie seemed to be genuinely enjoying it.

Across from her, Killian’s ears twitched in effort to choke down his laughter.

“So Emma,” Prince Liam said, lips tilted upwards in a smug smile, “how do you like the food?”

“It’s…” she said, grappling for the right word and coming up short, “interesting. Different from the ones served during the ball.”

“Oh yes,” Prince Liam said, while Killian glared at his brother, “this is a family delicacy. We’ve never had a Nysnian elf who has  _ever_  taken to it.”

“Oh, oh my, are  _you_  Nysnian, Emma?” Belle pipped up excitedly from her seat next to Henry.

Henry and Belle seemed to get on like a house on fire, going through hundreds of years of world history in the span of the few hours they had talked.

“Yes?” she replied, unsure why this was an issue. Her gaze landed on Killian, suddenly feeling like maybe this was a thing about herself she should know.

 _“_ Oh. I see it now, you have that dent in your chin and everything,” Belle said, craning her head to study Emma.

She squirmed under everyone’s attention, bringing another spoonful of Asiménia to her mouth, only to instantly regret it.

Elsa, the quiet blonde next to Liam, laughed. She had barely spoken to any of them, so Emma was a little surprised to find such open emotion from the elf.

“Truth be told, Asiménia is truly an acquired taste, don’t feel bad, Emma,” Elsa said.

“And it apparently tastes like this berry in Nysno, Marjaga, which is poisonous. Maybe that’s just your genetics that makes you dislike it,” Belle said, the petite human a seemingly endless sprout of knowledge.

“Belle,” Gracie cut in, seated primly across Henry and in-between Killian and her father, “will you tutor me in history?”

Jefferson’s head snapped up to his daughter, who was ignoring him in favor of staring down Belle.

Belle lit up like a Yule lantern, eyes rounding wide as Henry interjected “Me too!” and then remembering his manners, added on softly, “Please.”

“Of course. Oh, it would be such an honor. I would love the opportunity to hear you recite poetry as you did earlier. And sing. You have such a gift for it.”

“Thank you,” Gracie said with a smile, preening under the praise.

* * *

It was decided that they would stay for dinner, so the party adjourned to the study to continue their discussions.

Killian looked to be completely taken by Gracie.

His eyes kept darting to Emma, and she wondered if he was musing the same thing as her. Had it taken? She was in no ways prepared to be a mother, not like this, but watching Killian interact with the blonde haired, green-eyed elf child made picturing a future too easy.

She wasn’t even sure if she wanted it. Having to deal with a situation like that would drive her into a panic. But until then, she figured she could allow herself to indulge in a little daydream.

Killian was seated on the lush carpet on the floor resting lightly by her knees, while Emma sat on the couch. She was tempted to run her fingers through his hair, but managed to stay the impulse. Next to him, Belle, Henry and Gracie made up the rest of the circle on the floor, while the other adults had left for something or other.

Despite her initial anxiety, and Prince Liam’s somewhat cool response to her, the day had been nice. In fact, seated where she was, Emma was feeling particularly content.

While Belle and Killian took turns to regale the children with tales of history and famous adventurous elves and humans, Emma found herself only half-listening.

The content wasn’t boring. On the contrary, she was learning a great deal about elves, but her full stomach and calm proximity to Killian made her rather sleepy.  They had her full attention, however, when Henry asked why elves who were hundreds of years old looked like humans of 30 years.

“We develop slowly, lad,” Killian said, gesturing with his hand for Belle to interject with the prolix answer they all knew she had.

“You see, elvish biochemistry is very different from ours. Hormones are created slowly, the mechanisms more complex, the telomeres longer, much longer than ours.”

It was clear she was losing Henry, who hadn’t quite reached that chapter in school, but Belle continued, “They age pretty fast as younglings, which is why Gracie and you seem to be growing up at the same rate, but once she hits about 30, everything slows down. It’s also why parent-child relationships don’t have the same dynamic as human ones.”

“Aye,” Killian said, rubbing his jaw, “that’s true. You see, you could technically have a child at 30, but because both you and your child have an average lifespan of 800 years, you’re pretty much peers. But say, you have a child when you’re 350, and well, that’s a more similar human parent-child dynamic.”

“What if you Recognize when one person is 300 and the other is 30?” Henry asked.

Emma felt her face flame. Adopted though he may be, he was just as blunt and sly as she was.

Both Belle and Killian flushed, clearly under no pretense as to why the question was asked. `

“I’ll leave this one to you,” Belle said, looking at Killian, while Gracie giggled.

“Uh… um… well. Recognition is different. It’s two souls meeting as one. You will learn from each other of course, but as long as you respect each other, like any other healthy relationship, there should be no problem.”

“Good answer,” Henry praised, making Killian blush red.

“Henry!” Emma hissed.

Suddenly, she was struck with a thought of what he’d just said.

“Oh my god,” Emma gasped, as the realization hit her.

All of them turned as one to look at her.

“What is it, Emma?”

Heart beating rapidly in horror, she asked, “How long do elves have periods for? Because I’m not going to lie, I was looking forward to menopause. Now you’re saying I have to go through this torture for  _hundreds_  of years?”

“Oh ewww, mum, come on!”

“It’s part of life, Henry, I told you that,” she told her son distractedly as her gaze remained on Killian.

“Yeah, but that’s for when I’m like older. I don’t need to know that  _now.”_

“Don’t even talk to me about you getting old,” she warned. Henry shut his mouth abruptly, no doubt remembering her breakdown about her outliving him still fresh in his mind from the week before.

Killian looked flustered, so it was Gracie who answered.

“We’ve evolved not to need that, actually.”

“ELVES DON’T HAVE PERIODS?!” Emma shrieked indignantly.

“I mean, we do,” Gracie corrected, brow furrowing, “it’s just, it’s not the same. You bleed once every 3 to 5 years, until you hit about 250. Then the body sets itself into what is called Henig Amatúlië. It’s basic epigenetics. And Recognition can trigger it later on. Like an on and off switch.”

“What she said,” Killian mumbled.

With an eyebrow arched, Gracie asked, “How do you not know this, Your Highness?”

“Just Killian, lass. And I do. I mean, not in as much detail as you do, of course.”

“Okay, can we change the topic now,  _please?”_ Henry begged.

Emma met Gracie’s gaze, the young elf rolling her eyes as if to say,  _men, no matter the species, all the same._ Belle laughed, clearly entertained, as she diverted the conversation into some random fact.

* * *

Emma excused herself to freshen up a little while before dinner, only to be followed by Killian just as she reached the day room for guests.

“You’ve made it hard for me to get you alone,” he said, closing the door with a soft click.

“I was doing no such thing.”

“You’re simultaneously an enigma and an open book, my love,” he said.

Killian had a habit of dropping saccharine endearments into their conversations, and she didn’t know how seriously to take him. While it was hard to stop the warmth that stirred in her belly every time he used one on her, she told herself that perhaps, it was simply how he spoke, and did it to everyone. So she ignored it.

“How so?” she challenged.

“Our messages have gotten a little brazen, wouldn’t you say? Yet here you stand before me, skittish as a doe. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re only brave to admit to your desire when you have a distance.”

“Wow, that’s reaching, don’t you think?”

“Hardly, Swan,” he scoffed, “I think it’s right on the mark. You’re scared of me, scared I’ll let you down.”

“Just what the hell have you been speaking about with my son?”

“I didn’t have to ask Henry any of this to know it, Emma. Give me some credit. I didn’t pry.”

“You think you know me so well then? What about you?”

“What about me?”

She paused, considering him. Somewhere during their conversation, they had moved closer. It was like a disease, a constant pull towards him whenever they occupied the same space. She wanted, when he was nearby.

And while he seemed to read her easily, she couldn’t quite figure him out. That in itself, was scary. He was unpredictable, an unknown entity that already had too much hold on her heart. An elf who understood her and had ingrained himself in her family. He was too much.

“I’d say you’re scared too. I just don’t know what about.”

He shrugged, slowly bringing his hands to grasp hers.

“Well, if we’re going to be scared anyway, doesn’t make sense to do it alone, yes?”

“Killian…”

“Why are you making this so hard, Emma?”

She bit her lip, eyes roving across his face as she considered how truthful to be. He was beautiful, that was easy to see, but throughout the weeks, he had proven to be everything she had ever looked for in a man. Elf. Man. Same thing.

Sure, there were inklings of a temper and jealousy that she could see there, and perhaps he was more reserved and secretive than she was, but he had shown himself to be kind, considerate, funny and above all, had taken a genuine interest in her life and Henry’s.

He had gotten lunch delivered to her when she had complained about having to work over her break hour due to Ashley’s mess up; had tutored Henry on math via hologram the day before an exam; made her smile by sharing articles and pictures of cute animals with silly captions throughout the day; in short, he had stuck around, with no pressure for more, as promised.

He kept promises. She hoped that was true. She wanted to believe that.

“How would this even work?”

“How do you mean?”

“You’re an elf prince. You live in a royal place in Irska.”

“Actually,” he cut in, “I live in Alamané. In a penthouse overlooking the river. I write music and paint, and I sometimes sell those paintings.”

“Your brother hates me.”

“What? No. Liam is wary of you, but he is wary of everything.”

“No, pretty sure he doesn’t think I’m good enough for you.”

“Emma,” Killian said, looking at her in concern, “I’m not sure what the idiot did to give such an impression, but I promise you that is not it. Liam’s issues are with my choices, not you. If he hated you, he wouldn’t have launched an inquiry about your parents.”

She pulled her hands away from his.

“He did what?!”

Killian looked like he deeply regretted revealing that. Emma glared at him.

“The Sukrasa are… they are the guardians of the elves. Everyone has a file. Since that first night, they’ve been building yours. Liam looked at it. I didn’t. Told him he was overstepping.”

“Fucking right that’s overstepping,” she growled, crossing her arms.

“Yes, well, he’s got a different idea on what constitutes as help. Liam is big on family. It’s why he tolerates the mad witch.”

“The mad witch?”

“Father’s consort, of course.”

“Of course,” she echoed sardonically.

“Liam may know a fact or two, but he doesn’t know the stories. Besides, I have a feeling you’ll get on with Elsa.”

“She seems rather frosty.”

“She’s the nicest. Too nice for my idiot brother, honestly. She just takes a little time to warm up.”

“Did they Recognize too?” she asked, uncrossing her arms.

“No. They chose each other.”

“What happens if they Recognize with someone else?”

“They still have the choice to keep choosing each other. Besides, elves aren’t nearly as prudish as humans. We’re a polyamorous species, which makes sense when you think about how long we live.”

“I don’t share,” Emma said, the words rushing out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“Good,” he said, taking the passion behind her words as an invitation to step into her space, “because neither do I.”

Emma gulped, suddenly feeling short of breath. Killian kissed her forehead, lips lingering between her brows as he breathed her in.

“Are we doing this, then?” he whispered, arms coming around her to caress her sides.

“I…I just… I’ve got to do something first.”

He sighed, pulling back. “Fine, but don’t tell me you’re not avoiding this, us, me.”

He looked as if he was fighting his frustration, biting his lip and shifting his foot.

It shouldn’t have been, but was, terribly endearing. Running on instinct, Emma leaned in, going for a kiss.

Killian’s reaction was instantaneous; his lips parted, deepening the kiss, derailing the chaste peck she had been aiming for. She indulged in it for a moment, breathing him in, before pulling back.

“Be patient, Killian.”

“Sure, what’s another 300 years?” he muttered. His cheeks were a ruddy red.

“Killian?”

“Yes?”

“Liam’s enquiry…did…”

“No. Not yet. If there is, I’ll let you know.”

She placed another quick, tender kiss on his cheek and then turned and walked to the water-closet, shutting the door firmly behind her.

She heard a faint murmuring, not being able to catch his words, as she washed her face and took in her own flushed complexion.

_You’ve played yourself, Swan._

* * *

In hindsight, staying for dinner had been them, overstaying their welcome. They’d barely finished the hors d’oeuvres when the Sukrasa announced Her Highness, Queen Consort Coraline was to be joining them.

The easy flow of the room vanished instantaneously, as Liam, Elsa and Killian sat up straight as if a tree branch had been inserted down their spines. Jefferson, who generally stayed away from elvish politics, looked discomforted by the prospect of the queen joining the table.

Gracie and Henry, clearly neither oblivious nor stupid, picked up on the change of demeanor of the adults and quietened down. Emma could think of no good reason why the queen would join them for a simple occasion of tea and dinner.

Beside her, Killian gripped her wrist. Emma had given up resisting him while she was in his presence, the need to connect and touch too strong to ignore for the sake of pride. They’d been discreetly hand-holding under the table for a while now, though neither had said a word about it.

The doors opened, and everyone stood. Killian dropped his hands from hers abruptly, as an elf in a blood red ballgown with dark hair in an up-do practically glided into the room.

Aside from the fact that she was over-dressed for the occasion, there was a sense of superiority about her that set Emma’s teeth on edge.

“Really, Killian, I must find out from the help that you’re hosting a dinner with someone who could potentially be joining the family?”

Her voice was clear and sharp, and despite the concern in her tone, Emma could tell it was more a reprimand than a desire to be included. She didn’t care about his response as her eyes zeroed in on Emma, who despite wearing an elvish-style dress, felt like she had been judged and came up lacking.

“Well, she’s pretty, at least. Small mercies. What is your name?” the queen demanded.

“Emma,” she answered, matching the no-nonsense tone.

The queen made a tsk. “I hear you’ve lived as a human your whole life, what a pity. But that’s no excuse for lack of propriety, my dear. I suppose we’ll have to see to your lessons about elvish court.”

She heard Liam cough, and saw Killian’s ears flush red.

“I think you’re putting the cart before the horse,  _Your Highness_ ,” she said, looking the woman in the eye. “We’re here to honor Gracie, after all.”

“Yes, there’s really no need to be inundating the Lady Swan, is there, Queen-Consort?”

Clearly irritated by the title, her eyes flashed to Killian. She moved to the head of the table, sitting down and beckoning them to do the same.

“I told you, _son_ ,” she replied, tone saccharine sweet, “no need for such titles when you could call me mother.”

“Not a damn chance, thanks, Your Highness,” Killian answered with a smile.

God, this was exhausting. Killian, with teeth still bared at his step-mother, turned to Gracie.

“Gracie love, I present to you Her Highness,  _Queen Consort_ Cora. You should tell her all about your assignment about human-elf integration, I’m sure she would love to hear it. You and Henry make a great research team.”

Emma wondered who she ought to kill first - the Queen, if she made a disparaging remark about her son, or Killian, for bringing attention to him. It was sure to be a fun dinner.

* * *

It wasn’t a fun dinner.

As soon as it was polite, Jefferson excused himself and Gracie, with a look to Emma. Needing no impetus, she also excused herself, receiving no resistance from Henry, who had been asked twice what sort of history they studied in human schools.

The queen seemed to adore Gracie, constantly comparing her knowledge to that of Henry, making sure to note the differences in standards. Emma was two seconds away from throwing a fork through her eyes, but Gracie seemed to diffuse tension with the kind of grace befitting her name.

“Of course, it’s late. I would like a word alone with Miss Swan” the queen said, eyes glinting.

“Your Highness,” Liam interjected smoothly, “I’m afraid Miss Swan isn’t quite privy to all the protocols of court. Perhaps when we’ve—“

“I’m well aware, William. Now, my request stands. Please leave us.”

Jefferson, Henry and Gracie stood. Emma waved them off.

“Go on, Henry. I’ll be right there.”

“I’m staying,” Killian said, tipping his chair in an insouciant move. Emma ignored him. This power play was a family issue, and she did not want to be anyone’s pawn.

“ _Am man theled?”_ Queen Cora said to him in Elvish, leaving Emma clueless as Elsa and Liam rose.

“I am staying,” Killian repeated, clearly having no wish to explain his reasons.

Liam looked like he was about to say something, but Killian flashed him a look, posture screaming for this fight to be his. Liam said nothing, giving the queen a hard look before walking out and slamming the door.

“So hot headed, your brother. Just as you are,” she said, switching back to the common tongue. She shook her head at him disappointedly.

Having had more than she could bear, Emma snapped. “Fine,  _Your Highness_ ,” she said, the title dripping like ooze, “I’m here. What did you want to say?”

“Very well, straight to business. You’re to remain discreet, Miss Swan. The less anyone sees and knows you, the better. You’re not to talk about your suspected parentage to anyone. And…” she pulled out a bottle from her pocket, “if you happen to find yourself with a…problem in your belly, this tea will solve it.”

Killian had grown progressively more irate as the woman had spoken. At her last words however, he growled, standing so abruptly the chair crashed to the floor.

“How dare you—“ he sputtered, stalking to her.

“Killian,” Emma called out sharply, never taking her eyes of the queen who seemed to be enjoying the bonus of watching her stepson rage, “this is my conversation.”

“As you pointed out, I’m  _uncultured_  in your bullshit rules of court. So let me tell you right now, that I don’t give a flying snapdragon about what you think of me. I sat down here and played nice while you barely tolerated my son, and now you’re asking me to abort a child I might have? I see why they call you a serpent, but it seems like a damn insult to the snakes.”

“How dare you speak to me that way, you insolent brat! You have truly no idea who you’re speaking to. No idea how I’m  _helping_  you. This is your one and only show of mercy, Miss Swan. Test me again, and you will deeply,  _deeply,_ regret it.”

Nostrils flaring, the queen strode away, the anger radiating from her an ancient thing. Perhaps if she had been anyone else, Emma might have been cowed, but she felt nothing but anger.

Just as she reached the door, she turned, eyes finding Killian.

“Ask your brother, he knows why I only meant to help,” she said, and then walked out through the antechamber. The door was shut heavily behind her.

“ _Amarth faeg!_  That fucking, no good, lousy viper!  _Pe-channas_!” he snarled, picking a bowl and flinging it across the room. It shattered into dust, the fine glass completely disintegrated from the force.

“I should slit her throat where she sleeps.”

“Okay, whoah, calm down, Killian. I’m pissed too, but calm down with the murder.”

“Slitting her throat would be too merciful for someone like her,” he said darkly.

“What did she mean about ask your brother?” Emma asked, moving to pick up the vial she’d left behind.

Killian was shaking, his face red. He looked two seconds from throwing another bowl.

“Who knows? Probably something said to sow seeds of distrust.”

She held the vial of clear liquid up to her eye, swirling it this way and that. “No, she wasn’t lying. I could tell.”

“What are you doing with that?” he asked her instead, ignoring her remark.

“I don’t know.”

“Throw that away. Perhaps you should throw it there,” he said, indicating to where a dust of white lay to their right, “where it belongs.”

“Does it do what she said?”

His mouth dropped open, the look in his eyes one of betrayal. “You can’t be serious.”

“I don’t think I would. But I should have a choice!” She tossed the vial in the air and caught it.

“You do have a choice, but what am I? Does my opinion count for nothing?”

“Not if it’s my life on the line!” She growled at him.

“That’s fair, Emma, look I’ll respect your choice. But at least let us talk about it if it comes to that. And for the love of the universe, not by her methods. Who knows what poison is actually in that.”

Without a word, Emma swung her arm back, releasing the vial against the wall. It shattered, the liquid running down the sides of the wall.

“That felt good,” she said, grinning. “I pictured hitting the back of her head.”

Killian blinked at her, an unreadable look on his face, before he surged, crossing the distance and grabbing her by the waist. He kissed her soundly, pulling greedy kisses from her lips. She responded enthusiastically, channeling all her irritation and emotion into passion.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers, breathing deeply.

“You’re a marvel, Emma Swan.”

“And you have some serious anger issues, but it’s also very, very sexy.”

“I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

“That’s sweet, Killian, but I can fight my own battles.”

He smiled against her lips, kissing it briefly before pressing his nose to hers. “I don’t doubt it, but you don’t have to do it alone. That’s what I keep telling you.”

“Okay.”

“Really?”

She pulled back far enough to look him in the eye.

“Henry told me an old saying. We’re only as strong as we are united.”

“Smart lad.”

“Yeah. I missed you. I could feel that…emptiness. I thought it was an after-effect of all that Recognition stuff…maybe it is, but I guess… I mean you asked why make this harder than it needs to be, and well, maybe you’re right.”

“I know exactly what you mean, my love. I’d rather not live like that, considering I now know what its like to have you in my arms. My heart no longer needs be empty. I know it won’t be easy, but we don’t have to get involved in any of the snake’s politics, we can just… be. Away from here. Work on this, us, together. Would you like that?”

“I suppose it’s good as any plan.”

He laughed, tweaking her nose. “That’s hardly a plan, but we’ll work on one. Henry is probably getting really impatient outside this door.”

“Yeah, I’m surprised he hasn’t barged in yet. Gracie is really good for his manners.”

Killian kissed her softly, a gentle peck of the lips, before reaching to grasp her fingers with his hand.

“And you’re really good for me. Come.”


End file.
